


slipping through the cracks

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, Bottom Armitage Hux, Comfort Sex, Force Corruption, Lap Sex, M/M, Top Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: There's only one way for Hux to bring Kylo back from the brink of what the Force—and his thirst for power—has done to him.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 139
Collections: Huxloween 2020





	slipping through the cracks

**Author's Note:**

> One last Halloween fic inspired by conversations I've had with a friend about Force-corrupted Kylo. Just something short, with a little soft, a little sex, and a little sadness. Enjoy!

“Come now, Supreme Leader. Come back to me.”

With his palm pressed to Ren’s heaving chest he can feel the powerful but frantic beating of his heart, through the thick layers of his blood-soaked tunic and the sweat-heavy surcoat beneath. It’s eased slightly since Hux first entered Ren’s quarters, upon discovering he had returned from the battlefield, but the tempo’s still alarming. Ren is stiff, locked into a sitting position on the edge of his bed, his fists clenched stop his thighs, his neck rigid beneath the heavy weight of his helmet.

Hux knows he must go slow when Ren is like this. Still frozen in the aftermath of battle, caught between the post-bloodshed shock and the heat of adrenaline still coursing through his veins. So hot and cold at the same time that his body had seized up, unable to move, or think. If he had the Force, Hux knows he would be able to sense nothing but fevered static coming from Ren’s mind, white noise he would have to disentangle, make sense of. But as he does not—he must go for a far more physical means to the end.

Keeping his palm pressed to Ren’s chest, flush with his still racing heart, Hux moves in closer, straddling his lap, knees pressed to the bed on both sides of it.

“I need you to calm down.” Hux speaks firmly but without cruelty. He knows better than to arouse Ren’s bloodlust again, agitate him to that mad, nigh-berserk state he entered during battle, that even Hux couldn’t escape from when it was at its peak. “Kylo.” He allows a softer edge to enter his voice as he uses the man’s chosen name. “I need you to remove your helmet. Can you do it for me, or should I?”

Ren’s arms tense, shaking in his tightly closed fists, some indecipherable but mournful noise feeding through his vocoder. It’s enough answer for Hux, and after a few more seconds tick by, he slides his hands around to the back of Ren’s helmet, fingers alighting on the familiar mechanisms, pressing the release on the servomotors until they click and _whir_ , gradually loosening their grip on Ren’s skull. His inky hair tumbles down the back of his neck, like water released through a sluice, puddling around his cowl.

Hux sucks air between his teeth, Ren’s face now fully exposed. His cheeks blanch bone white, conviction wavering, while his concern climbs to a new, dizzying height.

Warning flares, bright stunning red, have been going up for some time now, portending that Ren’s affinity with the Force was beginning to cost him dearly. Hux can’t explain why it's happening—it’s not something that follows any rational models of disease or physical degradation he’s familiar with, not something that could be tested or measured. Hux sets aside the helmet on the pedestal beside Ren’s bed, before returning his hand’s to Ren’s face—hesitating only briefly, before they come to rest.

Ren’s skin has taken on a deathly, blueish-grey pallor, like ominous, rain-swollen clouds that mirror tumultuous seas beneath. A surface of bubbling water made flesh. It’s not all uniform in color, but layered, with a darker, bruised purple stain collecting in places, like dead blood stagnating in the cracks and fissures and knotted scars eroded into Ren’s flesh. His scar has thickened and paled in comparison to the rest of his skin, a stroke of welted lighting splitting the right side of his face, blighting the afflicted eye into little more than a blind, featureless orb.

Ren lets out a wet croak, the gaze in his good, albeit petechiaed eye pointed down in shame. Still, he fails to find his tongue, and his body trembles beneath Hux, fists now opened to dig against his thighs with his nails threatening to split through the thick leather. Hux traces his fingertips against the warped terrain of Ren’s skin, leaning forward until their foreheads are resting together. Untouched beige, against yearning, mottled grey. 

“Hush. It’s alright, Kylo. I’m going to take care of you.”

Deep down, Hux fears there’s likely little meaningful he can do now. Whatever the strange, self-inflicted contagion is, it’s set into Ren’s bones, inexorably burrowing beyond that, into the very essence of his soul. But it appears to spread more quickly, more terribly, the longer Ren holds onto this rage, this sclerotic ferocity that eats away at him, renders him helpless before the Force’s whiplash. The least Hux can do, is slow it down, bring Ren back into himself—at least, until the day when he’s too far gone for Hux to even reach. 

He undresses himself first, momentarily leaving Ren’s lap to discard the many layers of his uniform. His boots and gloves occasionally remain on when he beds Ren but this time he removes those too, knowing Ren needs _everything_ Hux can give to him. He re-straddles Ren, healthy pink flesh pressed to withered, scarred skin and the scratchy, confining black fabric that hides it all from everyone but Hux. Soon, that goes too, exposing only more of the corrupted flesh, until Ren is naked save for the necessary leather bindings around his neck, middle, and forearms. There, the contagion has gotten so much worse.

Hux knows it, though he has only seen those parts of Ren, uncovered, once. Once was enough.

As far as he understands, the contagion hasn’t rotted away key parts in Ren’s pelvis, so as he pries himself open on spit-slicked fingers, he dares to delve his other hand beneath Ren’s pants, breathing an inward sigh of relief when his fingers grip firm, if unusually hot flesh. He gives it a quick stroke, urging Ren’s cock up to half-mast—which it does, if reluctantly, like some alien creature venturing out of its lair.

“There you are, darling, it’s alright,” Hux coos, guiding Ren’s cock between his legs. It hurts, the first bit of the breach, but Hux pushes through, stretching, separating, sinking down on Ren’s corrupted cock until he sits, ass pressed against Ren’s hips, breathing a bit labored. It’s been a while. The twinge reminds him just how long Ren has been gone on this recent spate of missions, with no one to ground him, to comfort him at his lowest, neediest points.

No wonder the corruption has spread so far, with such devastation. No one to ground Ren, keep him sound enough to withstand its unrelenting hunger, to dam the leaching of infected cracks through untainted flesh and soul Hux had long taken for granted would always be there.

No one to protect him from falling.

Hux loops his arms around Ren’s neck, ensuring he’s balanced in place, before he starts to move. He lifts his hips upwards, sliding halfway off Ren’s cock, before dropping his weight back into Ren’s lap.

Ren shudders visibly, mouth yawning open in a strangled moan as Hux tightens around him. He shows off his teeth, newly sharpened, their tips tinted with blood from his lip. Hux rocks shallowly in Ren’s lap, leaning in to kiss the side of Ren’s face, right over the craggy scar. His hand slides into Ren’s hair, detangling out bits of viscera and clotted blood from the battlefield, eventually finding loose purchase there as he continues to ride Ren yet remain close at the same time.

It takes longer than Hux remembers to bring Ren off, odd considering how hot and keyed-up he is, but it comes eventually, with a fervid, awakening jerk of his hips. Hux arcs his back, shuddering at the sensation of Ren filling him. Ren's stiff muscles melt, the dregs of adrenaline finally oozing out of him. Hux lazily pets the back of Ren's head, breathing heavily, noting that the darkness in some of the deepest cracks in Ren's face has lifted. 

“Thank you…” Ren exhales, finally finding his voice. It’s low, and far more gravelly than Hux remembers, but it’s there. Ren is snatched back from the brink, from losing his entire mind to the fury-born contagion.

For now.

They fall back limp, lying intertwined in the bed, Ren’s front to Hux’s back, one hand clasped together. The beating of his heart feels far more stable, and the warmth of the covers compensating for any lingering chill in Ren’s skin. It’s enough to calm Hux towards the peace of sleep, this proof that he’s done _something_ against the inevitable, as the disfigured nature of Ren’s body grows number and less real, and he can again imagine it’s only a product of a nightmare, that he may wake up to find Ren whole and healthy.

A foolish hope, Hux knows. Even the naive Hux, the one now teetering on the edge of blissfully ignorant dreams. But at the very least, he’s granted Ren more time. That’s all he can do.

The rest is Ren’s fight.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


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